Cold Fusion - A Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Fusion Short Story Anthology

Leverage

Author's note: This was a bridging story written for the 'Beautiful Minds' anthology on Oorah's profile as part of the TeamSteampunk to cover for one of the team that dropped out. Together with stories by @sigrist, @ashiqtnt, and @TheOrangutan ,this story provides supporting characters, situations and background for the main story, 'Winter's War'. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to check out both the 'Beautiful Minds' anthology at @Ooorah's profile, along with the supporting stories by Adam, Ash, and Gav.

With a sigh she rolled to the edge of the rickety bed and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge.

"I've added a bit more to your usual fee," the fat man still lying in the bed behind her, said, his face flushed and his breathing heavy. "You were exceptional tonight, my dear. Exceptional."

Forcing a smile, she looked over her shoulder at the pale bulk that threatened the bed's integrity. No reward was worth this.

"Thank you, minister, you are most generous," she said, fighting to keep the revulsion out of her voice. "Just rest there, my lord, while I go see if the girls have prepared your bath." She was already standing as she said that, reaching for the silk robe that hung nearby. Pulling it around herself with a practiced twist, she flashed the man a final fake smile and slipped out the boudoir's back door.

"You are a far braver girl than me, Annabeth," said the mousy ginger-haired girl that was standing behind the door as she closed it, dressed in tattered lingerie. "You couldn't pay me enough to let that thing get on top of me." When Annabeth threw her a hard look, the ginger flashed her a toothy smile. "Good thing you're fit."

"Don't you know when to shut it, Viv?" Annabeth hissed. The ginger's smile became cheeky at that.

"I'm a whore, Beth," she retorted saucily. "Men pay me to keep it open!"

Annabeth rolled her eyes before stepping past the other woman.

"As if I had forgotten," she said, then jerked a thumb back at the closed door "Make sure his lordship doesn't move. I'm going to wash his leavings off before I sick up."

"Will do, luv," Viv answered. "There's a couple tubs ready in our bathroom!"

It was nearly an hour later that found Annabeth sitting at the battered, second-hand table in the brothel's tiny kitchen. Now off-duty, she wore more comfortable clothes in the form of a baggy pair of belted men's pants, calf boots and a heavy linen shirt over a leather corset. In front of her sat a chipped plate holding some boiled beef, a chunk of hard cheese and a handful of potatoes, all of which she was doing her best to destroy.

Simple as it was, the meal was more than some of the girls in the Dirty Petticoat district ate in three or four days. But, then again, they didn't service ministers of Her Majesty's government like Annabeth did, bringing in bags of coin each instead of the handful that any others made. That alone gave the russet haired woman the kind of income that put her at the top of the brothel's pecking order.

Thankfully Annabeth, a rather practical girl from Dublin, didn't use that income and position to lord it over the other girls. Instead she did what she could to ease all of their lives in what was easily the most derogatory of professions. One that she would've avoided completely if her bankrupt tinker father hadn't sold her to debtor's prison as a teenager to satisfy some of his creditors.

She had been bought out of that prison by her Madame, Felicity Trews, who had taken one look at the long-legged lass with the Irish brogue and knew she'd bring in the richest of clients with her creamy skin, flashing green eyes, and lithe figure. And it didn't take long for the teenage Annabeth to prove her worth, quickly catching the eye of military rank officers with money to spend, then their superiors, come to see what all the talk was about.